King's Champion
by Andi Horton
Summary: It is decided that King Peter will not compete at the Lone Islands Tournament. He appoints his brother champion in his place, but Edmund has some doubts. Golden Age fic, finished!
1. Chapter 1

King's Champion

0O0

"I say, isn't that the armour you wore in the great tournament in the Lone Islands?"

- _Prince Caspian_

0O0

"And Your Majesty is not competing?"

Peter tried not to let the question irk him, but it was difficult, considering it was the forty-second time it had been asked.

He'd been keeping count.

He'd also been keeping civil, and he kept civil now as he inclined his crowned head just the fraction demanded by courtesy to the solicitous little courtier who hovered before him. Really, did all these Lone Islanders have to stoop when they saw him coming?

"We are not, Sir Berr," he confirmed. "Our brother has consented to do us the honour of carrying our banner, and we anticipate his success with great confidence."

"Indeed, indeed," Sir Berr seemed remarkably close to scraping the ground, for one standing. "I am sure it will be a marvellous fortnight indeed, with all number of intriguing displays . . . word of your brother's skill, though it may not be as well known as yours, has indeed reached us here in our remote parts. Of course, it is hard for a man to attain the same legendary status as an older brother if he competes more frequently than his better, is it not? One risks so much more by exposing oneself to defeat, after all."

Peter's heart stilled for just one deadly moment.

"We are confident," he spoke with measured caution, "that you cannot be aware of the . . . potential for misinterpretation carried in the remark you have just made. One might almost say you had implied cowardice on the part of your High King. However," with a smile that seemed anything but, "we are sure it was unintentional, and will graciously treat it as such."

Sir Berr's cheek twitched, as if he wasn't sure whether he ought to thank Peter or not, but before he could decide which best to do, Peter ended the audience of his own accord by stepping decidedly away, toward the quarters that had been allotted himself and his siblings during their stay for the Lone Islands Tournament.

"A fortnight of jousting, broadswords, archery and general idiocy," he muttered to himself the moment he was closeted in the private apartments. "I shall go mad ere long."

"I do hope you didn't say as much to our hosts," his sister, the Queen Susan, said dryly from the chaise lounge on which she reclined. "Our poor little Duke is nearly beside himself with the strain arranging all of this to your satisfaction . . . he has taken Edmund down to view the course even as we speak."

"Then Edmund may express his satisfaction, and I shall hide away in here. That wretched little Berr fellow as good as called me coward for not competing- it was all I could do not to call him out then and there."

"It must have been trying to hear such ill-deserved implications, I am sure," Susan murmured, her eyes straying to the delicate scrap of embroidery cradled in the lap of her rich, satin gown. "However, you remember that it was agreed upon amongst we four that it did not become Narnia that our High King should compete against his own subjects for such trifles as a tournament offers. We agreed, Peter," she spoke in the gentle tone of a lecturing mother, "that you should compete only in those tournaments that pitted you against foreign powers, that they might marvel at the strength of our kingdom and carry the reports back to their own rulers."

"I remember well, Lady, what was agreed," Peter sighed, sinking into a chair before the dying morning fire and staring moodily into the flames. "That means not that I am pleased by it, but rather that I know I am bound by my word. And true, a King can ill afford such trifles as vanity and pride, so I will do what I must to hold my tongue."

"I have not a doubt," Susan said demurely, but there was something in her tone that made her brother look up sharply, just in time to catch a twinkle fading back into the depths of his sister's lovely eyes.

"You imagine I cannot do it," he accused, and Susan, rather than taking offence (as surely their sister Queen Lucy or their brother, the aforementioned King Edmund, would have done) merely met his gaze with all tranquility.

"Have I made such a slur upon your character, Brother?" she wondered, and Peter got very red under his collar but said he stood by it, as he thought he knew her well enough.

"Well enough to know my mind?" she wondered, and something in the way she said it made Peter feel suddenly ashamed to have made her ask such a thing of him.

"Of course not, Sister," he sat back, chastened, and looked down just in time to miss the slight quirk of his sister's lovely lips, almost as if she fought a smile.

"In any event," she made a careful stitch, then another, "you will be championed by the greatest Knight beneath you in our kingdom, and there are few Kings who could ask for better. Edmund will do us all proud, Peter; he has such love for you, he cannot help but awe them all by that alone."

"There is that," Peter agreed, and some of the tension left his noble face as he reflected on this.

Edmund, he knew, would indeed do them proud. After all, if a man could not count on his brother, then on whom could he depend? And Peter would trust Edmund, who loved his brother and sisters as only they could understand, with his life. The paltry honours won and lost at a tournament paled in comparison.

He was still reflecting on this when the door opened again, and Queen Lucy popped through, quickly shutting the door behind her and leaning up against it, blue eyes wide and tendrils of golden hair straggling free from beneath her beaten-silver crown to fall into her lovely face.

"Oh!" she gasped, still leaning against the door and breathing hard, "oh, Peter, do please chase them away!"

"Chase who away?" Peter was on his feet in a heartbeat, one hand flying to where his sword Rhindon ought to have been buckled. Too late he remembered Rhindon was under the careful care of the dwarf who always travelled with the courts of Cair Paravel and tended to their armour and weaponry when it was not in use.

Susan glanced up from her embroidery, but did not react with the same violence Peter had displayed. Instead, she merely smiled to herself and examined her handiwork more closely as Lucy whined plaintively,

"Grigg and Herrild!"

"What in the Lion's Name are a grigg and herrild?" Peter stammered, and Susan laughed out loud, drawing the startled glance of her brother and baleful glare of her sister.

"Grigg and Herrild," Susan twinkled, "are two noble young men who have taken it into their heads to compete for the favour of our fair sister. They have been pursuing her about the palace all day, each begging a boon from his one true lady love. Lucy has been eluding them with a determination that equals, if it do not fully surpass, their own. I believe she has come to plead our succour."

"You may laugh if you wish, Susan," poor Lucy looked near tears. "You at least are used to receiving court from men who are old enough to grow beards! It isn't fair- I get the lovesick puppies who think they ought to sing me ballads and fight duels for me, as if I were still all of ten, and might be impressed by such things. But they really are such little fools that I feel it cruel to kick them away, only they _will_ insist on coming! Peter, _please_ chase them off! I wanted to walk the course with Edmund but then _they_ found me and I've been trying to hide ever since!"

Peter, his panic quite left him now, began to laugh and collapsed into his chair. Susan, though she did not laugh, permitted herself a deeper smile as she bent her head over her embroidery, and Lucy gave a wail of indignant dismay.

"Oh, you're both impossible! You have no idea what they're like- I had no idea such young men as these even existed! If one offers me the moon, the other swears he will climb up and fetch it back himself! If one offers me the sun, the other prepares to go there directly and harvest me a bouquet of fireflowers. Each declaration is more ridiculous than the last, each promised feat more impossible than the one that came before it. How am I to be rid of them? Oh, _please_, Susan," she here she flew across the room to kneel at her sister's side, "_please_ tell me how to do it."

Susan, I am afraid to report, did not work very hard to fight a smile as she focused thoughtfully on the little embroidery frame that rested in her lap. Lucy, I am equally ashamed to admit, quite lost her temper at the sight of the smile and snatched Susan's embroidery right off her lap. Susan cried out at the loss, and Lucy, dancing back quickly, held the handiwork aloft as she challenged,

"_Now_ you will tell me, will you not?"

"What," Susan was on her feet in a trice, frowning reprovingly at her sister, "a Queen of Narnia concede to the foul will of a blackmailer? E'en her own sister? I think not."

"Oho!" Lucy cast a triumphant look at Peter, "there, did you hear that? Our fair sister cast aspersions on my character. You must make her do penance by telling me how I am to be rid of these wretched little suitors!"

Peter, for his part, was laughing in earnest now, Sir Berr's slight of some minutes past completely forgotten in the face of his two sisters going toe to toe for the sake of information sought and a bit of embroidery.

"It would not befit a King of Narnia," he managed to sputter at last, "to . . . chastise one sister for belittling the other. It . . . it would suggest favouritism . . ." and then he was off again, laughing helplessly even as Susan made an unsuccessful grab for the embroidery and Lucy whipped it behind her back, then cried out abruptly, let it fall and examined a drop of blood that glistened on her finger.

"I stuck myself," she said petulantly.

Susan, to her credit, did not bear her sister any grudge but immediately forgot the once-captive embroidery and took Lucy's hand in hers to examine, fuss over and carefully daub with the dainty edge of her own handkerchief.

"There," Susan said at last, "I think you are well enough to sit down and put yourself to rights," and here she tucked one or two strands of Lucy's hair back from her face, "and listen to some advice."

Lucy, relieved that her plight was at last being taken seriously, obediently sat beside her sister and listened as Susan explained some simple, kind tactics for turning away suitors who seemed a little too eager to win a lady's heart. Peter might have listened in on their conversation had he not realised it was almost time for him to meet with Edmund, and discuss his brother's first day as Narnia's champion tomorrow at the tournament. So it was with great reluctance that the High King got to his feet and slipped out, closing the door gently on Susan's careful explanation.

Then he set a brisk pace down the hall to the room his brother had been given for their stay, knocking on the door and being admitted by Edmund himself, who seemed to have aged a decade in a day. Alarmed, Peter put his hand on his brother's arm as the door swung shut behind him.

"Ed, you look exhausted! Is something wrong?"

"No, no," Edmund shook his head fretfully, and Peter grew even more concerned.

"Is it the course? Your opponents? Do you think it will be too much of a challenge for Ram? Or will it be too difficult for-" and he stopped, for he had been about to say 'you' but he could not bring himself to malign Edmund that way. Edmund knew what he had meant, though, for he looked up at his brother in fierce defiance.

"No! I can handle their course, Peter; it will be my greatest honour to champion you. But . . . I worry," he admitted, leading the way to a pair of comfortable arm chairs set before a cold fireplace, "that it may be too great an honour for one man."

"Oh?" Peter settled into one chair as Edmund took the other. "And whence springs this fear, Brother?"

Edmund could not meet Peter's eye at first, and when at last he did Peter was unnerved by how troubled he looked as he made his reply.

"I am only one man. And you, Peter, are the greatest man I know. How can I do you the honour you deserve? If I fail, then all is lost. Narnia has no other champion to offer, and Cair Paravel has been defeated at her High King's own tournament. I could not bear it if I were the cause of your defeat, however inconsequential we may have deemed the tournament to be. Please, Peter," Edmund sat forward, his expression deadly earnest, "do not give me this burden to bear alone. Give me some other man to fight beside, that if I fail you, you may still have one on whom you may rely."

When his brother had finished speaking, Peter sat very still for a long time. At last he looked up, and Edmund thought he had never seen his brother look so solemn nor so noble as he did at that moment, when he made his decree.

"You are our brother," he informed Edmund, and when he spoke he was as perfectly formal as any King should be, "and you have been appointed Champion because we would choose no other man to defend our title. You will go onto that field one man, with the conviction of your King and your kingdom behind you. You will do as any Champion ought; you will bow to the crown that you serve, honour the throne from which you reign, and you will remember you hold the favour of the Lion. You will not fight alone, Edmund; you will fight under the banner of Aslan, and to win or lose under that banner is a small thing compared to having fought beneath it at all."

Edmund swallowed hard; it might not have been the answer he sought, but strangely enough, it was the one he had needed to hear. Even before Peter had finished speaking he had begun to sit up a little straighter, and some of the desperation had left his eyes. By the time Peter sat back in his chair and suggested they speak of other things, Edmund knew that tomorrow, whether he won or lost, he would have gone out onto the field under his brother's name. He would walk to meet his challengers with his brother's favour riding on him, and he knew that win or lose, there was no other way he would rather fight.

0O0

**A.N.:** Thus ends part one of two! The second and final part will be along very shortly indeed, and in the meantime I cannot suggest to you strongly enough that you all check out the amazing work of an independent Celtic folk artist named Heather Dale. Her song Bow to the Crown was the inspiration for this little two-part fic, and once you hear it I think you'll know why. It can be purchased as a single song through the Puretracks site, or if you like you can order the entire CD through Heather's own site, heatherdale dot com.

Otherwise, let me know what you thought, and watch for the second and last part, to be posted very soon!


	2. Chapter 2

I wasn't going to post this until later tonight, but I got my final marks back today and they have made me feel very generous! So enjoy!

0O0

Bow to the crown, bow to throne

Bow to the One whose Favour you own

Remember their eyes are watching the fray

Then bow to each other, and fight as you may!

- Heather Dale, _Bow to the Crown_

0O0

The Narnian Kings and Queen spent various portions of the night before the tournament in sleeplessness.

Lucy, predictably, found slumber first; she was the first to seek it. Stretching out happily in a bed that wasn't hers, she felt much the same way you would the first time you were away from your own home, perhaps at school or in some unexplored place where you felt safe enough to not be scared, but still found things new enough to be very exciting. She wiggled about happily for some little time, enjoying the novelty of it all, before at last she dropped off to sleep, a happy smile still gracing her lips.

Susan was awake some time longer than her sister; her own bed was in the same vast chamber as Lucy's, but quite on the other side of it so the small lamp by her bed did not disturb her sleeping sister. She kept the lamp burning long after Lucy had put her own out, and focused carefully on the little scrap of pristine cambric stretched across the embroidery frame.

The needle that had stuck Lucy earlier in the day had stained a very tiny section of it rusty-red, but Susan, ever-practical, had worked to incorporate it into the scarlet field she was crafting, and she rather fancied it looked all the better for having been marred in the first place. It wasn't until well past midnight that the gentle queen smiled in tired satisfaction at what she had wrought, then freed it from the balsam frame to set carefully aside until morning.

Peter, too, sat up rather late, but that was because he had no choice. The Duke of the Lone Islands had come to him nearly in tears to wail that the banners for one Count had been soiled because they had been kept too close to that same Count's horses, and they could hardly be flown the next day beside all the other banners; it would be disgraceful to even consider such a thing, given the state they were in. The Duke was consequently beside himself, and begged Peter to come himself to explain the situation to the Count, who really didn't see what all the fuss was about and had said they could just fly them soiled, for all he cared.

On their way to meet this careless Count, the High King and the worried Duke had met up with none other than that ardent duo of Grigg and Herrild, Lucy's ever-persistent suitors, who had both been in a race to see who could get to Peter first and beg his permission for Lucy's hand. While Peter tried to fend them off and the Duke fussed and fretted, a trio of fauns with a grievance to air also came upon them and began nervously asking Peter if he might grant them an audience, so what with one thing and another, it was well into the darkness of early morning before Peter found his own weary way to bed.

For all his siblings' trials and delays, though, King Edmund still managed to be the last of the four sovereigns who remained awake. He sat in the wide window of his room, gazing upon the great white moon long after the rest of the castle was abed. His face, already pale in the silver glow of moonlight, was made even whiter by the thought of what faced him tomorrow.

"Why must he have such _faith_ in me?" the young king moaned softly, one troubled hand ruthlessly kneading his leg. "It's one thing for him to put on the robe and crown and say all is forgiven and we can go on as ever . . . but to put me out there under his name, in front of everybody . . . I don't know that I can do it. I don't mind so much when it's _my_ name I risk. My name's such a small thing. But his . . ." Edmund trembled, his jaw working furiously.

"He's king. He's MY king. He's the High King . . . in every way. And he wants _me_ to represent him. _I'm_ certainly no High King. I'm not even a fit substitute. Peter, you great _idiot_." He stood up abruptly, paced a furious line along his floor, then returned to collapse abruptly on the window sill once more. With a soft moan, he rested his feverish brow against the cool stone, wishing with all his might that his brother had asked some other man, knowing all the while that Peter would never have considered any other.

"Please," he said softly, "please . . . I couldn't bear to let him down."

And thus did King Edmund spend the better part of his night, his hours filled with anxious pacing, his turmoil unobserved by any save the silent, unjudging moon. It was not until the sky began to pale and the joyful morning star winked her merry goodbyes that the weary man was at last able to drag himself off to bed for a few hours' restless slumber.

0O0

Since not all the monarchs spent such restless nights as Edmund, not all of them found it as difficult as he did to wake up the morning of the tournament.

"Oh, lovely, lovely day!" Lucy laughed out loud as she sat up in bed, greeting the sunlight that spilled through her windows and pooled in every corner.

Out of bed in a trice, she flew over to the window to lean out as far as she could, inspecting the tournament fields that stretched out beneath her. The banners of all the lords and castles that competed were flying high; highest of all flew Peter's own red-and-gold lion banner, followed closely by Susan's ivory horn, Edmund's gilt scales and the simple scarlet outline of her own bottle of cordial, incongruously crossed with her little dagger.

Hugging herself with glee, Lucy rushed across the chamber to where Susan still slept. Gazing affectionately at the softly-snoring lump in bed, the younger sister waited as long as she could bear before she leaned in and happily shook the elder awake.

"Susan!" she carolled softly into her sister's ear, "Susan, do get up! It's the first day of everything! Ed's going to fight today- don't you want to give him your gift?"

Susan seemed perfectly willing to surrender that honour if it meant she might sleep a little longer, but Lucy was having none of that. She coaxed, wheedled and cajoled until Susan had to get up just to make the noise stop. Then, as the older Queen at once headed to the luxurious vanity that had been provided for them so she could put herself to rights, Lucy turned her attention to the piece of handiwork that Susan had completed the night before.

"Oh," she gasped softly, catching it up, "oh, Su, it's your best yet, I'm sure! Edmund will look well with it. Though I'm not sure he would want to wear it into battle . . . it's almost too lovely."

"Don't be silly," Susan spoke perhaps a bit more shortly than she would have done had she been more awake. "It's meant to be taken into battle, and that's what Edmund will do with it; I won't have it being made into an ornament or any silly thing like that."

Nodding agreeably, Lucy set the scrap of fabric down where she had found it and went to join her sister on the long bench stretched out before the panes of mirrored glass. Side by side, in companionable silence, they began to get ready for the day.

They had almost finished their task when a flurry of little knocks on their door were quickly followed by the breathless appearance of Gertilda, the plump little Duchess of the Lone Islands, who was only marginally less awed by the visiting royalty than her husband. The Queens had made rather a pet of her almost at once, in much the same way that older girls at school will do with a wide-eyed little newcomer, and had affectionately nicknamed her Tilly. They may also have called her Silly Tilly in private, but I really wouldn't like to say for sure, and in any event I am sure if they did it would only be with greatest affection.

Tilly was panting and anxious as she stammered out the news that His Royal Majesty the High King Peter was awaiting Their Majesties' Pleasure in the Audience Chamber, and if Their Majesties didn't find it too Terrible an Inconvenience, perhaps they could Do His Majesty the Honour of Joining Him Forthwith?

Tilly, the Queens had noticed more than once, tended to speak as if mostly everything were in capitals. They may or may not have discussed this at greater length than was really necessary when they were in private. I really couldn't say for sure.

"Of course we will be right along," Susan murmured, inspecting the position of her crown as Lucy gave her hair one last tug and plopped her own crown carelessly on top of everything. "Thank you, Tilly," she added, offering the breathless Duchess a special smile, "for coming to tell us."

Blushing and curtseying, Tilly tried to back out but ended up colliding with the doorframe. She very nearly upset herself onto her ample backside before she finally righted herself with an effort and scurried out, leaving Lucy and Susan to avoid each other's eyes and bite the insides of their cheeks to keep unqueenly smiles from their faces.

"Ready?" Lucy asked presently, a hint of a laugh caught in her throat, and Susan nodded serenely, giving her golden crown one final adjustment.

"Indeed," she murmured, and together the sisters rose and swept from the room to join Peter (and if their graceful exit was somewhat spoilt by a burst of girlish giggles as the door swung shut behind them, well, then, who am I to criticise?).

Peter met them both in great state in the audience chamber. Both girls thought he looked most resplendent his in robes of deep scarlet and gold, and the noble brow that bore his crown looked as if it might have been formed for that purpose alone. Susan smiled joyfully and Lucy gave a glad little cry at the sight of him, but Peter looked so regal and solemn as he turned to receive them that both sisters felt the occasion called for a certain amount of gravity, and managed to slow their rushing steps to a stately walk as they crossed to greet him.

Peter quite spoiled it, though, by catching them both about the waist and spinning them in a wide circle. Both girls shrieked, but Peter just laughed and held them closer, kissing each queen fiercely on her forehead before at last setting them back on their feet and taking a step back to smile at them both.

"Are my Ladies ready for today's amusement?" he wondered, and Susan said they were, as Lucy glowed with quiet pride at being one of Peter's Ladies. So Peter extended an elbow to each of them, and the trio led the way out into the large royal box, the anxious Duke and Duchess scurrying along behind them.

"Is Edmund very anxious, do you think?" Lucy wondered, using her brother's steady arm as leverage to propel herself onto her tip-toes, and get a better view of the vast field.

"Edmund knows what he's about," Peter answered calmly, then gently handed Susan to the cushion placed before her seat, and urged Lucy to take her place at hers.

All three of them stood before their chairs as the Duke made a very grand announcement about the honour King Peter did them by his presence, and then Peter's strong, clear voice rang out across the field as he declared the great tournament of the Lone Islands officially opened. Trumpets blared, the sisters and their brother took their seats, and with great fanfare the challengers rode out onto the field.

Edmund was among them, naturally, and Lucy had to try very hard to not forget herself and wave at him. She knew this wasn't done at tournaments, of course, having been to so many of them, but if you have ever been to cheer on a beloved friend or family member on Games Day at school, you will know exactly how she felt. Edmund was so impressive and noble looking that it was hard _not_ to be excited for him. It seemed to Lucy that there was just something about seeing her brother looking so regal and solemn on Ram, his great black horse, that made her want to jump up and wave for all she was worth.

Susan, who suspected Lucy would feel that way, was quick to make a little sign to Peter that he had better move things along if he didn't want Lucy to lose her composure and begin cheering Edmund on before the tournament had even begun.

Peter understood the sign very well, since Susan had made it so often in the past, and he stood to announce (looking very grand and serious as he did) that as High King he had reserved the right to appoint a champion in his place.

"We have decreed," he said as all of the onlookers listened with rapt attention, "that our well beloved and royal brother Edmund, King of Narnia, Duke of Lantern Waste and Count of the Western March, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, shall serve as Champion in our place. Our confidence in him, his abilities and his honour," and here he turned softer, more brotherly eyes on Edmund (who was by now very pale and solemn indeed) "is unparalleled. May _every_ man here today fight with honour, and may the best of them win the day."

Then he sat back down amid applause that shook the ground like thunder. Susan patted Peter's arm in thanks, and Lucy wiggled happily in her seat as the cheers rose up around them.

"Oh lovely!" she cried softly, under cover of the noise, and Peter and Susan both smiled at her as the Duke stood and announced the jousting would begin.

At this announcement some men left the field and others took up positions just off it. As King, Edmund had the honour of facing his opponent first, but before he did, Susan stood and waved him over to the front of the royal box.

Drawing Ram to a prancing halt before the box, Edmund looked up at his sister, who smiled down at him with a tender affection much different from that displayed by the wiggling, enthusiastic Lucy; one look at the lovely, warm smile on Susan's face, and Edmund felt rather as if spring had come for him alone.

"I have something for you," Susan said softly, and produced a lovely piece of snowy white cambric- a large handkerchief, lovingly embroidered by a sister who would never ride to battle with her brothers, but would have gladly sent a piece of her heart each time they went if only it meant that they would come home to her safely.

Edmund took the beautiful thing from her, holding it in a gauntlet that, for all it had been fashioned by the finest Dwarfsmiths in Narnia, suddenly looked gauche and clumsy next to his sister's exquisite handiwork. He examined the piece of art carefully, and felt a sudden lump rise up in his throat as he saw what she had made.

Upon a field of blood-red scarlet (and a tiny drop of Lucy's blood) their brother's rampant golden lion reigned above a set of delicately-wrought, gilded scales. Susan had spent hours making sure that Peter's symbol and Edmund's were both worked into the fabric in perfect harmony, and when Edmund looked back up at his sister he felt less than half as worthy as he'd done a moment before, and yet at the same time he felt twice as certain that this was, after all, something that he could do.

"Thanks awfully, Su," he managed to choke out, and Susan blushed in response to his evident appreciation.

"It's nothing much, really," she murmured, unable to hide her pleasure at his reaction, "merely a trifle. But for all you're going out under Peter's name, you're still _you_, after all, and I did so want you to ride under both your colours. May I?"

Edmund said she might, so she reached toward him and carefully bound the fabric to the handle of his lance, arranging it so that it fell in such a way that the symbols and colours were plainly seen. Then she sat back in her chair, and Edmund backed Ram up until they were squarely facing the royal box. His heart was pounding dreadfully in his chest, but he held his lance upright as he faced them all.

Susan was smiling at him, as lovely as any May morning and twice as calm. She was glowing with the soft contentment that most mothers reserve for their children, and he realised with rather a start that Susan had always looked on all of them as being much in need of mothering; he only wondered now when they had stopped resenting it so. He also wondered for a moment how she could be so composed in the face of what could well be a crushing defeat for all of them, then decided that the moment she wanted them to know, she'd be the first to explain it.

Lucy, of course, was shining bright, her whole face glowing as she sat on the edge of her chair, her hands tucked under her so she wouldn't forget herself and wave at him. She saw him watching her, and gave a whole-body wiggle that he supposed was meant to take the place of the energetic waving she favoured. He also wondered briefly at the two dejected young men who kept casting sorrowful, wounded looks her way, but since they didn't seem to bother her he decided it could wait until later.

Lastly, he allowed himself to look at Peter. His brother, who was the greatest man Edmund knew, looked out into the field upon him and smiled. Edmund felt a horrible quiver in his stomach as he realised, for far from the first time, that Peter had no expectations of Edmund save that, win or lose, he fight with honour and thus acquit himself as a King and Knight of Narnia ought to do.

Edmund swallowed hard, and for just a second wondered if things would be very terrible for him if he suddenly dug his spurs into Ram and the two of them bolted for the shore, as far away from the tournament as they could get. It was a terribly tempting prospect, and he considered it very gravely for just one, desperate second. Then reason returned to him, and he remembered Peter's instructions of yesterday: bow to the crown, honour the throne from which he reigned, and remember that the favour of the Lion went with him. Those, at least, he could do.

With care, he kept his lance aloft and made as deep a bow to Peter as a mounted man could. Peter, for his part, inclined his head just as deeply in acknowledgement of his brother and his champion. Then, since the throne from which Edmund reigned was in Cair Paravel and rather far away, he bowed instead to his sisters. They both bowed solemnly back at him, just before, with a nudge of outside knee and tug on inside rein, he pivoted Ram and the two of them trotted into place at the far end of the field.

Far away at the other end, he could just make out the colours of his opponent. They each made their salute to one another, as knights who face each other will do. Edmund wasn't sure who the man he faced was, and right now it didn't much seem to matter; all that mattered was that as he raised his lance high to signal his readiness, the scarlet-and-gold token that fluttered there in the wind reminded him of the last part of his pact he had to honour.

"For Aslan," he reminded himself softly, "for the favour He shows His appointed King." And then, hoping it was all right, "And please, Aslan, if you don't mind- for Peter, too. Because . . . he believes in me."

Then Edmund brought his visor down with a clang, and as he tightened his legs around his horse he knew, from somewhere deep and far away inside him, that Peter was right; those who fought under the banner of Aslan knew that to win or lose under that banner was a small matter indeed, compared to having fought under it at all.

"This is it, then," he told his horse. "And I suppose, after all, there are worse things than losing with honour, aren't there?" And Ram, who knew as much as any horse can know, drew back onto his hind legs with that little bugling cry that is particular to war-horses from the South, as if to say that indeed, there probably were.

Then the flag before them dropped, and together they charged. And all that remains to be said is that for years afterward, whenever anybody asked what the great tournament on the Lone Islands had been like, those who had been there always said the same thing: nobody in all of Narnia had ever fought so well, nor so nobly, as had King Edmund on that day.

0O0

0O0

**A.N.:** And that's entirely everything! Please don't think me terribly unfair for leaving it like this; I did consider seeing it through to the end of the tournament, but it just didn't want to come out right that way. As I was wrestling with the idea of it, I finally realised the reason it wouldn't work was that the song that inspired this in the first place isn't about winning a fight, nor was it about losing it. It's about walking out onto the field with honour, and knowing that whether or not you win, you'll walk off it with honour, too. It's the sort of message that I think fits Edmund especially, because he's had such a hard time of it in the past with his own honour that I think he deserves a fic that focuses principally on his ability to fight with it.

I did have a lot of fun getting this together; once I realised how it had to end it fairly flew out, all thanks to that marvellous song, and again, I can't recommend Heather Dale's work highly enough. All of that chivalry lends itself marvellously well to so many Narnia fics, and a few of the Romance-based songs also suit other characters rather well!

Thank you all for your very generous reviews; they mean so much to me, and they help me focus my writing even more, which, if everything works as it ought, should make things more enjoyable for you to read in turn!


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